Reciprocity
by Jabberwocky
Summary: This is mild R. DracoRemus, for a friend. When Draco's under pressure, he ... fantazises about his teachers. Featuring flippant!Draco


_A/N: This was done for a challenge on the razorflavoured community on livejournal. It's Draco/Remus. Draco's 16, so it's underage, but there's no sex, and he's too old for it to be chan, really. It's a present for Amber (Iconified on lj) – she asked for Remus/Draco, dark. Don't know how dark this is – my Draco is pretty much inherently silly. I don't own the illustrious Mr Potter or any of his associates, so pleasedon'tsueme._

**Reciprocity. **

 Draco likes his classes.

Well, no less than most people. He's not exactly gung-ho about school or anything – no Granger, he, but since the one teacher everyone hates likes him (or isn't malicious, anyway), he really doesn't have much reason to hate a class.

Except Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He's always hated that class. For one thing, he was much more interested in _learning_ the Dark Arts than _defending_ against them, but his father said it he needed to know his enemy and that if he ever found out he'd skipped even _one_ Defense class, he would have to Pay the Price. Draco wasn't wholly sure what that meant but didn't want to find out, so you can be certain, he'd never missed a Defense class. Even that time he had measles second year, much to Lockhart and Pomfrey's chagrin.

Then, there were the teachers. First, there was Quirrel, who was just so stultifyingly boring and spineless the entire class was totally useless. Then Lockhart, who was so much less pretty than himself it was almost laughable (but not quite). Then Lupin, who, at the time, had been vaguely annoying, and fairly fun to try and ruin. He'd been glad he was successful (sort of, though he supposed it wasn't really his doing, but probably his father had something  to do with it and in cases like that responsibility was transitive, passed down father-to-son like icy eyes or something) at getting him unable to work in Wizarding London again. After him it'd been … Moody, who was so vigilant it was simply horrid to listen to him, but good thing he had anyway because if Crouch had actually won and Draco had been as awful as he'd wanted, he would've been first against the wall. And then Umbridge, whom he'd sucked up too, but who had honestly scared him to death – he saw how she looked at the first year girls writing lines and wiping cut hands on their forehead … it was even weirder coming from someone so ugly as Umbridge was. Some teachers Draco could imagine having thoughts like that … but Umbirdge? It was unnatural, she could never reproduce, surely (well, not with little girls, obviously, but he's talking in general).

Anyway, point was, Defense sucked and that was all their was to it.

Only, now it was sixth year. And he came in, and smiling up at him (OK, probably not at him, probably at the class as a vague entity, but Draco liked to think it was _at him_) from behind the desk was … Lupin.

Draco would've liked to say he was really different … but he wasn't. He still looked worn, and the grey hairs in his fairly young head had possibly grown in number over three years … but it was still Remus J Lupin. 

Draco also would've liked to say that Remus had started the whole thing, but if he's being honest with himself, he knows that as soon as he walked in the door the first day of classes, sixth year, he was gone. Like that. Draco hadn't even thought he was gay (well, he'd had no reason to – so far, he'd always gone for girls) before then, but being gay is not as much of a crisis as being in love with your teacher, so first things first.

It would've been nice if then, Defense had become Draco's favourite class. But, of course, it wasn't. He sat in the back, blond bangs falling over his eyes, trying to look icily at his teacher, while he really wanted to explode with lust or throw his head back and moan or rush at Lupin and … well, yeah. And since he was used to getting what he wanted, sitting there was complete torture.

Especially a few months in, because Lupin started looking back. You'd think he'd be happy, and he was (despite the depressing times … it was tenuous on both sides of the brewing war and he could tell almost everyone wanted to break the tension somehow. His way just seemed to be wanting to screw his teacher), but knowing that he might have a chance to satisfy this, but he really couldn't because … teacher. Wrong side.

Draco didn't really care about all that. The air about the school … grey days, with white winter sun in November, and a sense of doom hanging about everyone made Draco's natural response to pressure show through – and his was, apparently, utter apathy to the situation at hand and obsession with satisfying carnal urges, and deciding jewelry was perfectly manly and having dark-lined eyes was artistic. Draco wasn't an artist.

And, he was getting desperate. His own hand was just fine normally, but this was getting quite hard to control and he thought maybe, if he just had a chance to get some of the tension resolved somehow, maybe not with, you know, nakedness, (idiot), but just something, then he'd be able to relax.

So when, at the back of the classroom, Lupin leaning over his shoulder and Draco making sure his pants were covered by the desk, he felt lips and stubble against his ear that whispered, "Mr Malfoy, I'll need to talk to you at the end of class," Draco was sure glad he sat at the back and everyone else was working on an essay, because that way no one noticed him shiver as Lupin walked away, or his hand slip under his desk to calm himself down a bit.

Class ended. Students poured out of the classroom and he really, really wanted to go with them, chill out in the common room, eat some chocolate or something, but Lupin was standing right there and Draco just couldn't, as an appreciator of the human form, leave while Lupin was cleaning up his room and, moreover, expecting him to stay. That would just be a crime.

Eventually, he felt he could stand up reliably, without either falling over in a very undignified manner unworthy of a Malfoy, or show anything untoward about, you know, the situation. So walk to the front of the classroom was what he did, and he stood, sort of uncomfortably, looking up at Lupin from under low lids. Lupin smiled back, and asked if Draco would like some tea, which Draco would, and maybe a ginger newt too, and while Draco ate, he could see Lupin watching his tongue over spicy ginger cookie ridges.

Which, of course, egged him on appropriately, and he was finally really going to go quite nuts (more than he already was) if this whole nothing didn't become something right quick, and he decided he needed to take some initiative and – but Remus took it first.

And then Draco's really getting into it, you know – but Remus stops and pulls away and says, "I think you ought to leave, Draco" and holds him, stunned, at arm's length. Eventually he sort of totters out of the room, hot (boy, is he hot) and bothered, clichéd swollen pink lips and all, back to the Slytherin dorms where he finishes himself off, expertly, being quite remarkably good at all this now.

He's honestly in a pickle, and now he _knows_ Lupin likes him back, and if only he could get him out of conventional teacher roles and stereotypes, he could probably get laid. They'd be protesting against the … facism … of … society. Yeah. And, not being the sort to easily back down or accept defeat, well, Draco started taking Measures. So whenever they chance to be walking near one another in the constant crush of students to meals or whatever, Remus finds that he is being pinched or grabbed or stroked or rubbed by an impish blond and this is getting quite out of hand, Remus knows, but he can't take it anymore and one day it's near the full moon and the hall isn't as crowded as usual but he can feel those magicking hipbones pressing insistently into his upper thigh and Remus is pleasantly surprised that, when Draco's back meets the stone wall, he doesn't pass out on the spot.

Pass out is, of course, the last thing Dracos's likely to do, as he winds his arms around his teacher's neck, moves his hips up and down with his legs around Lupin and catches hungrily at his lips, but Lupin's pressing Draco into the wall harder than he was expecting and Lupin's pushed himself, through robes and an immense age gap, against Draco enough to finish himself up, and kissed him so wolfishly that Draco's bleeding now, and suddenly Lupin's gone and, as Draco slides, disheveled, beautiful, and bleeding to the floor, he knows he'll never be relaxed again.


End file.
